


The Complication

by RurouniHime



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: Angst, Confessions, Episode Related, Established Relationship, Lawyers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-22
Updated: 2011-07-22
Packaged: 2017-10-21 15:49:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/226900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RurouniHime/pseuds/RurouniHime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg's lawyer receives a visitor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Complication

**Author's Note:**

> SPOILERS for Fannysmackin' and Post-Mortem.

**The Complication**

 

Roseanna Eiger called to cancel her dinner date with her mother mere minutes before she heard the tinkling of the bells on her office door. A glance at her calendar told her she had no pending appointments for the afternoon. Outside the window, the rain sheeted darkly down the glass, tapping with insistent fingers as the wind buffeted. It was nearly five; another half hour and her office would be closed for the evening.

She heard the low murmur of her assistant in the anteroom. Roseanna clicked a save on the case report she’d been finalizing, already mentally scheduling in the last edit for later that evening. After she’d had time to go out and find something halfway decent to bring back to the office instead of the relaxing dinner she’d been planning with her mother. There was nothing else to be done; tonight she had to gather her notes for the civil suit she would be defending the following week, or she’d get nothing done tomorrow.

The door opened and Janine stuck her frizzy red head in. “Anna? You have time for one more?”

Roseanna’s lip quirked. “No drop-ins, Janine.”

Janine shook her head. “He’s from the crime lab.”

Greg Sanders, then. She was supposed to see him tomorrow morning. Eleven-thirty, _and Anna, that’s my definition of the crack of dawn_. Roseanna frowned at her computer, then nodded. “It’s fine.”

But it wasn’t Greg Sanders who walked through the door. Roseanna’s eyebrows shot up, and she spent a second searching for the right name. Stokes. She remembered his deposition two weeks prior. Straightforward, unassuming. Met her eyes when he spoke to her. He cut a rather impressive figure in her doorway, as he had then, too, and she suspected he’d come straight from work. The man’s shirt was a touch wrinkled, long-sleeved with the cuffs rolled to his elbows. His collar was opened to the second button and his jacket was spattered with rain, draped over one arm.

“Mr. Stokes,” she said, a little less collectedly than she’d planned. It was just unexpected. He’d left her with a good feeling during his interview and declaration – soft-spoken, almost belying his size, and a polite manner to go with that accent. But the image she remembered most clearly had come from the recording of Greg Sanders’ hearing, before she’d even met the man. One copy of full footage for each lawyer, courtesy of the Assistant D.A.

Roseanna gestured toward the chair on the other side of her desk. “What can I do for you?”

Only then did he cross from the doorway, giving her a tight smile as he took the proffered seat. “Ms. Eiger. If it’s an inconvenient time—”

“No. I was just wrapping up for the day.” Sneaking in under the wire, this one. She wondered again at the strangeness of the lab’s hours. She’d already had to get on John Bascomb’s case about pre-trial dates and conflicts with Greg Sanders’ scheduling. But she wasn’t about to let the James’ attorney tramp her into the mud. He always tried it, and always failed. “There’s a little time before I close up shop. Did you want to go over your testimony again?”

The man let out what sounded like a sigh and shook his head. Roseanna noted the crease in his brow. Nicholas Stokes had sad eyes, with a smile that she suspected could heal a broken heart. The combination had been striking, but without the smile, she could see the real tug – the real power – of his gaze. It was startling.

“There’s something I need to discuss with you about the case.” He spoke softly, eyes tracking over her face. Roseanna sat back, mind already working to interpret the melancholy in his voice. She’d known the second she viewed the hearing tapes that this man had the ability to hand her half the jury if she managed her argument right. He exuded certainty, thought on his feet… Paid attention to detail. That was also part of the reason she liked his friend, her client, so much. This trial would not be the exercise in allusion and misdirection that she’d feared. But then again, they were CSIs. It stood to reason.

She nodded to him, but he dropped his eyes, looked toward the window instead. Surprised her. His elbow sat cocked on the armrest, fingers tapping lightly against his lips. Roseanna lifted her chin. “Mr. Stokes?”

At last he fixed her with that bottomless gaze. Pensive. “I’m… not sure my testifying is such a good idea, Ms. Eiger.”

Roseanna leaned forward, resting her arms on her desktop and suddenly feeling very heavy. “Are you unable to testify for some reason?” she asked carefully, not willing to let her mind go down the path of perceived threats yet.

A strange smile lit across his face. Almost a grimace. “I’m just concerned that my testimony will end up hurting Greg’s case.”

Now this was just damned confusing. “I’m afraid I don’t follow. You were very eager to testify at the hearing. And it did nothing but good for him.”

The man’s head lifted and the peculiar deep dark of his irises fixed on her. He looked old, older than he had a few weeks ago on the tape. “There’s something I think you should know, Ms. Eiger.”

“I am obligated to remind you that new information about the case may need to be shared with the plaintiff’s attorney, Mr. Stokes, depending on what it is,” she stated automatically, wondering exactly how much damage control would be required, but he was already shaking his head.

“No, it’s… it’s not relevant to the case. Not like that.” He closed his eyes briefly. “But it is something of which I feel you should be made aware. Because if _they’re_ aware of it, they’ll probably use it.”

Roseanna studied him warily. Not pertinent to the case itself, but important enough for Nick Stokes to come back to her office for the first time since his interview, several months before her final preparations. She’d sensed no guile from any of the interviewees during her initial investigation, including the Jameses. But Stokes had come across so solidly, solidly enough to turn her worry for Greg right around for the first time in the entire endeavor. She rarely witnessed such steadfastness in the friends of a defendant. It was clear that he wasn’t going through the motions; he believed that Greg Sanders had done what was necessary, and that kind of commitment would carry weight in a courtroom.

But whatever it was, if he feared Bascomb would use it against her, then he was probably right. Roseanna was young for a litigator, a fact that her less agreeable colleagues had a habit of pointing out whenever they could get away with it. She had liked Greg so much initially because she felt a kinship with him: youth in a profession that implied age and experience by its title alone. But she’d gone up against Bascomb before, and she had as impressive a record as his without all the cheap shots to get it.

“I’m going to need you to be more specific,” she responded at last.

Stokes’ fingers curled slightly against his chin. He drew an audible breath. “There may be a chance the other attorney will come at you with… some kind of a relationship between me and Greg,” he said slowly.

Roseanna could hear the rain drumming. The sound settled into the room, oppressive and constant, like a rapidly skipping heartbeat. She resisted the urge to lick her lips, steadying her gaze on the man in front of her, only to find his eyes locked on hers. “A physical relationship?”

His lip quirked, the ghost of the smile she remembered so clearly but had yet to see tonight. “Yes.”

She took a moment to breathe, to adjust to the brave new world he’d plunged her into. The waters she swam in had suddenly become murkier.

It wasn’t farfetched. Greg’s place of employment was close-knit, and people tended to know as well as fabricate other people’s business. And such a rumor held far too much potential to jog her case from its foundations.

He’d been right to warn her; Bascomb would toss something like this around like confetti at a parade and use it to discredit Greg, Nick Stokes, and possibly the entire crime lab in front of a jury. The sad thing was that it still _could_ be used as an effective smear. Juries could manifest like mobs, and mob mentality held more power than even the highest ranking judge.

She’d seen cases crumble on far less for the unprepared attorney.

But the odd twist in her stomach did not release as the seconds ticked by, bringing her to terms with the new threat. It took her several breaths to realize why. Roseanna straightened, clasped her hands in front of her, and asked the question lurking just beneath the weird silence in the room.

“Rumor or fact?”

She knew the answer just from looking at him. Her gut slid sideways into yet another whirl. An image of Greg rose in her mind’s eye, lingering bruises and eyes too old for his face. And just behind, simulations and clumps of hair and bloodied pavement, and the vehemence lying beneath a fellow CSI’s controlled testimony in a courtroom. A resolute nod between two men that she had failed to interpret as anything more than—

There’d been no context, but now there was too much. Roseanna couldn’t help it; she dropped her eyes, turned to stare at the hissing rain.

This… complicated things. It shouldn’t, but it did.

“Is this common knowledge?”

He sounded frank but somehow still vulnerable. “We haven’t been… overt. But if they’re looking for it…” He shrugged, a little too listlessly for comfort. “They’ll figure it out.”

She knew they would, and for an instant, she was absolutely positive that it would come up during trial.

Roseanna blinked and the sense of doom slipped away again, out of reach for the time being. She looked at him. “Greg hasn’t said anything to me.”

Nick Stokes’ grimace grew both haggard and more pronounced in the same moment. He reached up, rubbed his forehead. “No, he wouldn’t have. Didn’t want to tell you. _I_ thought it was necessary.” His eyes darkened and she saw his jaw clench. “They’ll figure it out. I can’t just let him walk in there to be eaten by the wolves.”

It was still too large a void to look at head on. Roseanna struggled to organize the knowledge, the images, in her mind before applying them to the case, but she couldn’t. She’d never even thought once that Greg Sanders had a male lover. Never mind whatever she’d thought about Nick Stokes. Her brain shunted it aside instinctively and returned to procedure with something nearing desperation.

“You are aware he’s elected to testify?”

Stokes nodded, his eyes hooding under some sort of pain she couldn’t pinpoint. But she had a good idea what it was.

He really was afraid for Greg Sanders.

All of a sudden she wondered how many of this man’s suggestions to Greg had gone considered but ultimately un-adopted. How many times they had discussed Greg’s options. How many times Nick Stokes had remained silent against his better judgment and let Greg go where he would, choose which path to take. She thought of the boundary between advice and action, and found herself pondering the weight of the steps Stokes had taken tonight, the sheer distance he had traveled to go against Greg’s wishes – probably without the other man’s knowledge – in order to apprise her of a danger he thought too great to ignore.

She thought of Sofia Curtis, who had first referred Greg Sanders to her, and wondered if she knew about them. If perhaps she had referred Greg with that in mind.

“Mr. Stokes,” Roseanna said cautiously, “are you saying you wish to withhold your testimony?” It was still his right; what he’d said in the hearing would hold water regardless. The impact… would just be weaker.

Much weaker.

Nick Stokes’ mouth did curve this time, into a sliver of a smile. Rueful. “No. I’m in it for the long haul. I wouldn’t hurt his case by refusing to testify. But there’s a good chance this could get messier than it needs to be.”

Messier. Had he any idea just how messy? Roseanna studied him and felt him returning the favor with the same keen stoicism she’d admired so much during his interview. His and Greg’s jobs could take a blow from this sort of disclosure. The media alone would trump it far beyond anything the courtroom could manage. She pictured Greg’s infectious smile and suddenly _knew_ that Nick Stokes was the one behind it. Her stomach dropped.

God. Their personal life would be split open like a worn bag of rice and spilled all over the floor for everyone to trample through.

But what really scared her was the look on the face of the man sitting across from her. She could tell he understood everything she was thinking, that he was thinking it too. Weighing it. Assigning each action a price. And there was no slip in the devotion in his gaze, a devotion she knew was most certainly not meant for her.

He would testify. Sit up there on the stand and let them drag the meat right off his bones. There was a name for the emotion she was looking at, and for a long, tilting instant, she was helpless in the face of it, the knowledge that she was looking at perfect, painful sacrifice. It bit, hard.

Proof that both of them could be very badly hurt by this.

She could see the risks inherent. This man knew Greg Sanders, knew him well enough to chance his anger. Deeply enough to attempt to fortify a wall against the outside danger, even if other walls went up between him and the person he was trying to protect. It was all for Greg’s well-being; none of it came back to Nick Stokes.

It was hard to quantify that in her mind. She had a feeling that if she tried, she would just end up trivializing it. “You’ll need to tell him that you’ve told me.”

Nick Stokes nodded again, and his eyes held an age they hadn’t before. “I’d already planned on it.”

Yes, she was sure he had. It always left a whirl in her stomach when it became clear to her that others had already thought through a situation completely, that she had become merely a player in a larger game. As if no matter what she contributed, the sequence of events had already been planned out. Usually it happened in the courtroom in an attempt to batter her case down. That she could handle. But having it happen outside the courtroom was just as unsettling.

She couldn’t imagine how unsettling this entire situation must be for Nick Stokes. For Greg Sanders. And she hadn’t even seen a hint of that sort of discomfort in him.

But her profession did not fail her, even now. Roseanna gathered herself, and as she did, she found her course of action surfacing through the fog.

“Will you see Greg tonight?”

It was obvious, looking at him; Nick Stokes had seen Greg Sanders every night since the hearing, possibly since the assault itself. It made complete sense. Nick wouldn’t elect to leave him alone, and Greg needed the distraction.

“Alright.” Roseanna tapped her fingers on her desktop, then grabbed a legal pad and pen, and scribbled a note to herself on it. “Tell him that our meeting tomorrow is cancelled. I’ll need a day to go over the appropriate legal groundwork. I’d like to see both of you on Friday morning. Ten o’clock? I’ll call Mr. Grissom and take care of your leave if need be.”

Nick Stokes rose from his chair and Roseanna rose with him, feeling energized as she had not thirty minutes ago. Stokes held out his hand and Roseanna took it, clasping her fingers tightly around the warm, firm grasp.

“Thank you, Ms. Eiger,” he said quietly. She smiled at him, feeling almost shy.

“Thank you for…” Oh, this was a fine time for words to fail her. Roseanna cleared her throat. “For coming to me.”

His response was a wordless nod. Nick Stokes picked up his jacket and started for the door, but halfway there, he stopped. His shoulders rose and fell, and he turned back, brow creased again. “May I ask you a question?”

Those sad eyes again. Roseanna searched his face – patient, just waiting for her acknowledgement – and nodded.

A subtle change swept his expression. He licked his lips. “Has he received any more threats?”

It was spoken in dead seriousness. His gaze did not waver, but his fingers tightened very slightly around the collar of his jacket.

The bathroom in the courthouse and the parking garage right under the crime lab’s nose. And then a rock through Greg’s window, sending glass all over the couch. She could still hear the crack running beneath Greg’s words like a fault line, see the whitened press of his lips. _I’m so tired, Anna._

Too tired to care enough about a restraining order. She’d tried to convince him otherwise, and his refusal had told her there was something deeper going on.

Her arguments hardly stood a chance if Greg Sanders thought the Jameses deserved their vengeance.

She drew a breath against the firing of her nerves. “I’m not at liberty to discuss that with you, Mr. Stokes. I’m sorry.”

Nick Stokes’ eyes shut. His shoulders stiffened infinitesimally. He nodded once, and when he looked up, Roseanna thought she saw a glittering in the corners of his eyes.

Nick feared secrets, and Greg was keeping them from him. What sorts of walls had he already erected between the two of them? At least Greg had told her about Aaron James’ recent activities, and she’d welcomed that as a good sign. But then, Nick Stokes’ entire visit today was proof enough that the path between Greg and herself was far from clear, and on a much larger scale.

It was no kind of relationship to have between attorney and client. But he wasn’t even talking to his partner; why would he talk to her?

Stokes was watching her again in that extractive way of his. She couldn’t keep silent. Had to fill the emptiness he exuded. “Does he talk to you about what happened?” _What is happening._

Stokes didn’t move for a long, long moment. Then he shook his head. Passed a hand over his eyes. The weariness beating from his body was palpable. Greg Sanders took this man to his bed. Solid, tall. Obviously protective. Chiseled jaw, and neat, striped shirt and jeans. A face haunted by a wisdom she suspected had been very costly to earn.

And she knew that look; she saw the same expression on Greg’s face whenever he came to her office.

Nick Stokes nodded again and the moment slid away, yet another broken tableau in a life of tableaux. Roseanna watched as he opened the door. Stokes thanked her again with a soft smile and left. She heard a muffled adieu to Janice before the outer door shut.

A breath.

Roseanna came around her desk, trailing her fingers over the surface, mind already working all on its own toward the next step. She crossed to the bookshelf and pulled one of her huge evidentiary rules binders down, taking it back to her desk. The smooth cover felt familiar in her hands, and she turned the thin pages through the table of contents until the text grew dense and small.

It was an enigma to her that she never seemed to know her clients completely, no matter how generous they were with information. Perhaps it shouldn’t have surprised her. There were always things they concealed. Lives that she, their lawyer for only a short episode, had no need of knowing.

Roseanna sat back down and flipped a few pages. She still wasn’t sure when the immensity of the situation would fully hit her, but that could be dealt with later. Technically, the situation had always been this way; she just hadn’t been aware.

The text of the various cases slid by incomprehensibly. Roseanna struggled with it for several more seconds before snapping the binder shut. She frowned down at the blue cover and shook her head. Slid her desk drawer open and rummaged for her address book.

A few briskly punched numbers and the phone began to ring against her ear. She drummed the top of her desk with her fingertips in time with the drumming rain, and waited. At last, a woman picked up.

“Maxwell Gaff, please,” Roseanna said.

The phone buzzed as the transfer went through. A click, and a gruff voice that brought a smile to her face.

“Maxwell Gaff speaking.”

“Max,” she said, and heard his chair creak over the phone as he shifted.

“Anna.” Playfully drawn out. “How’ve you been? Downtown treating you alright?”

She chuckled and sat back in her chair, feeling something release inside her. “Doing just fine. How about you? New recruits, I hear.”

“Yeah, yeah. Not nearly as intuitive as you guys were, don’t worry.”

She smiled and let herself close her eyes, grateful that some pedestals would always be there to support her. “Listen, I wish this was just a social call, but I need your advice, Max,” she began. “Have you been following the wrongful death suit against Gregory Sanders? Filed by Marla James. Sanders is a forensics investigator with the county.”

The familiar warmth came through the phone as if it were a tangible thing, and Roseanna could almost hear his lips quirking. “I always follow the cases my kids are on.”

She felt peace try to take hold in her chest and allowed herself the tiny grin.

“I’ve got a new complication. I think.”

She heard him shuffle something on his end. “You’re up against Bascomb, yes?”

“Right.”

An annoyed sigh. “What’s he trying to pull now?”

Roseanna glanced out the window at the sky, now even darker. “Sanders has a lover, and I’m afraid Bascomb is going to put them both through the wringer if he gets hold of it.”

“This lover part of the case?”

She waited a beat. “He’s one of my witnesses.”

“Ah,” Max said sparsely. She could almost see him nodding. “Ah. I think I understand your concern, Anna.”

“Yes.”

“So. Your question?”

“I need to know how you dealt with this last year. I know you had a case where it got ugly. Personal. Almost hung the jury.”

“You may be in for a ride, kid.” He sounded almost sorrowful for a moment, and Roseanna found herself contemplating the odds of this case falling through the cracks. If it did, it would be her first high-profile loss. Memories of Max’s near failure the previous year hung in the pit of her belly.

“He’s going to bring it into the mix if he can,” she said at last. “I’m sure of it. The media’s all over this case. It gets bigger the longer we sit around arguing over court dates.” Nick Stokes’ shadowy eyes floated in front of her as if he were still in the room. She thought of him returning to a darkened house, to Greg Sanders’ hollow face and holed-up silence. Hands linking, perhaps, a conversation she knew Nick couldn’t avoid. She could already tell he was a private person, and for all Greg’s fervor, she knew he also wished this, at least, to remain theirs alone.

People could only put themselves back together so many times. The physical and emotional damage Greg had already been through would be nothing next to what would happen to them both if this case tore their lives into the open.

Her mouth tightened. “If Bascomb pulls that kind of crap, I want to slam him.”

~fin~


End file.
